We rented a car for 800 NOK from a man with a Norwegian Forest Cat called Kvitfjell.

"Hvad betyder Kvitfjell?" I asked him. It was his favourite place to "stå på ski." Taking that in for a moment, it would mean my cat would be called Pt Addis Beach, or Chocolate Cake. That last one isn't actually true, but it was the first thing that popped into my head when I asked "What is my favourite thing to cook?" My subconscious sending a message - it has been too long since I made a chocolate cake, I hear my subconscious scolding my conscious. I think the last one I made was for Melbourne Cup day some years ago, a gluten free one that had coffee in it so it sent me spinning round and round until I fell over and fell asleep in Edinburgh Gardens. Must have been the spinning, surely not the champagne...

We rented a car for 800 NOK from a man with a Norwegian Forest Cat called Kvitfjell. A hairy thing it was, I wanted to bundle it up and steal out of the office before he could say "du!" Instead I paid my share and we drove off to Sommarøy, stopping every 100 metres to look at another mountain, and another fjord, and more snow. The boy stayed in the car, unphased. Only 8. Though he said he was sick, do boys have hormonal imbalances like girls that send them mopey or wild?

We parked the car at a Coop supermarket and ate in the cafeteria attached, meant for the local fishermen when they dock and come in for a snack. We ate Swedish crackerbread with Norwegian Mackeral spread in a tube and mayonnaise. "Mums!" (means 'yum' in Norwegian)

The sun was setting quickly, so I headed out ahead of them. Slip sliding down the road - everywhere iced over. And then I stood. Stopped. And forgot everything else, everything around me, everything before that moment and everything to come.

The air was cold and sharp in my throat, lips tingling and cheeks burning, eyes watering and cold trying to sneak in wherever it could to prod at my body for a reaction. No reaction it got. Nothing. Everything was quiet. I didn't hear the others bustling back around the car, or yelling out to each other as they slipped down the slope to the dock where I was standing. I didn't notice anything. I just breathed in, breathed out, breathed in, breathed out... The pink in the sky was reflected in the water. Everything was made out of sugar, toffee and syrup. Glistening in the light. A painting with such depth and beauty I wanted to dive in, just to be a part of it. Breath in, breath out, breath in...

Slowly I came to, they had joined me by my side and were taking selfies and wanted me to take their photo. I started to set up my tripod, looking at them when they spoke but only half there, always glancing out at the scene before me. Glancing out at a little house across the water, at the land around it, at the horizon, at the streaks across the sky... Each time they spoke to me it were as if they were shaking my shoulders - I wasn't in the present moment with them, I was somewhere else. I had been taken by the moment.

Another breath in, another breath out. The magic faded away a little and I came to.